Tiny Hands
by Queen Umbugartus
Summary: In which the nations go around the business of families. No Mpreg, copious genderbending.
1. Butterfly's Wings

A/N: Hi! I don't really have much to say up here.

Hetalia belongs to Himaruya. Not to me.

THIS IS A LINE. A Line. a line.

England is in the middle of a meeting, arguing with Germany, America, and China about some economic problem that seems immensely important at the time when he gets the call. Flashing an 'I'll only be a moment' look to the other nations, he pulls the small black phone from his pocket and checks the caller ID. It's France.

England excuses himself from the meeting, glad of an excuse to leave. He accepts the call, then waits for her to speak.

"Ah, Angleterre?"

Her voice is questioning. Odd, seeing as she's the one who called him. "Hello, Rach."

She is silent.

"Rachel?"

She takes a shaky breath. "Angleterre, the other day I wasn't feeling well, and I mentioned it to Spain and Prussia, and they thought, well, they thought maybe that was what it was, so we bought a test, and it was just one of those cheap ones from the pharmacy so I don't know how reliable it was, but it - well, it seems I'm pregnant."

"Bloody hell."

"Oui."

England's mind is completely blank. That little traitor, deserting him in his moment of greatest need. Like Stanley at Bosworth. Except his mind didn't join the other side, it just- No. Don't ramble. Be rational. Rational. Someone better get him a bloody script for this because he certainly doesn't know his lines.

Think rational. "Rachel, when-"

"That night in May when you almost fell into the Seine."

"Oh."

After a brief moment of silence, he attempts to rally. "Have you thought about-" (he chooses his words carefully) "-what you're going to do?"

There's a slight pause. "I was going to ask you that."

"Rachel, I'm not going to... To order you to get an abortion or something. If you choose to keep it, we'll get that place in the Channel Isles we've been talking about and we'll raise the child together. If you decide otherwise, well, I'll take care of you and nobody will say any more about it."

Again, she waits for a moment before saying anything. "I would like to keep it." Her voice is unusually hesitant.

"Alright love. Alright."

"You're coming over tonight, right?"

"Yes, I was planning on it."

"Well, come as soon as the meeting's over, and we can talk more."

As they say goodbye and hang up, England can't keep from grinning broadly. He's going to be a father.

A/N: France has the memory of an elephant when it comes to romantic, ah, events. I'll leave it up to you to decide why England almost fell into the Seine.

Stanley at Bosworth: Stanley was a fifteenth century English nobleman who betrayed King Richard III at the Battle of Bosworth and went to join Henry Tudor (the future King Henry VII) who was fighting Richard for the Crown of England. He was also Henry Tudor's stepfather. Honestly, what was Richard expecting?


	2. Life Will Never Be The Same

A/N: I don't own Hetalia.

Whether your pregnancy was meticulously planned, medically coaxed, or happened by surprise, one thing is certain - your life will never be the same - Catherine Jones

THIS IS A LINE A Line a line

"How are you feeling?" England asks as soon as he arrives at France's house.

France takes his coat, shrugging non-committedly. "Not too bad. A little sick, a little tired."

They move from the front hall into the living room. France sits on the large couch while England goes to make tea. He returns with two full cups, hands one to France, and sits beside her on the couch.

"So." He begins, taking a sip of his tea.

"I really want this child," France says, staring into her tea as if it held some fascinating secret. "I really do."

England looks thoughtful. "We've both raised plenty of colonies, and none of them turned out too badly. Well, aside from America."

France laughs. "Amèrique is not that bad. You are too hard on him."

"Yes, well, you would say that. You don't have to deal with him on a regular basis. But the point is, we didn't fail too spectacularly at being parents. Mostly."

"Mostly." France echoes, laying her head on England's shoulder. "Angleterre, what are we going to tell our bosses?"

They are both silent for several minutes before England lets out a frustrated sigh. "We're making this far more complicated than it needs to be. Our bosses know we're in a relationship. We can just tell them that we're going to have a baby."

France lets out a similar sigh. "Angleterre, a child makes it much more permanent."

"We've been together for five years. We've been allies in three World Wars*. They must be pretty used to it."

"No nation has ever had a child before, not one of their own. We have no idea how it will work. And what if the child is a new nation?"

"Then they really won't have an argument against it. There've been plenty of colonies."

France is stumped for a moment. England takes advantage of her silence to say, "It'll be fine. We'll call our bosses this evening, and then we'll find a doctor and set up an appointment for as soon as possible."

"What about the world meeting tomorrow?"

England wraps an arm around France's waist. "One step at a time."

A/N: Random question of the day:

Q: What universe is this story set in?

A: This story is set in a fictional universe set after the end of World War III.


	3. Mostly Sweet

**A/N: Hello, everybody! I'm back! And I still don't own Hetalia!**

_Families are like fudge - mostly sweet with a few nuts. ~Author Unknown_

The universe definitely hates her, Germany decides as she leans over the hotel toilet. In fact, the universe probably woke up this morning and said, 'Hey, let's annoy Germany for a change.'

Finished vomiting, the blonde nation leans back against the cold bathroom tiles. What the hell is wrong with her? This has been going on for one whole miserable week and it isn't showing any signs of stopping. It's not just the puking her guts out every couple hours, either. There's the tiredness, the random aversion to cooked vegetables, and the crying.

To top it all off, there's a world meeting today.

And of course it has to be in America. It can't be in a place where the host nation has a slim chance of keeping at least a semblance of order, which would allow her to skip the meeting entirely.

If she skips a meeting in America, it will end with a major monument being destroyed or a repeat of the male stripper incident.

There's a knock on the bathroom door. "Ve, Doitsu?" It's Italy. What the hell is he doing in her hotel room, anyways?

She reaches over to flush the toilet. "Come in." Italy opens the door, peering anxiously around it. "You're still sick." As if she doesn't already know that. She flashes him an annoyed look. "I'm fine, Italy. Are you ready to go?"

THIS IS A LINE A Line a line

The meeting ends up starting five minutes late because of America, who, it turns out, was at McDonalds. Typical.

France is the first to report, and she actually manages to do so without bickering with England. Germany actually zones out a bit.

She zones back in just in time to hear France say, "And I'm pregnant."

**A/N: Okay, there's your chapter and your semi-cliffhanger. Now review! My goal for this chapter is that 1% of people who review. Sounds pathetic, right? Well, based on the number of reviews so far, it's a pretty big goal.**

**Random question of the day:**

**Q: What pairings will be in this?**

**A: Oh god. It's going to center around FrUK and GerIta, but there'll also be RusAme, Nyo!AusHun, SuFin, DenNor, PoLiet, Giripan, SwissBelg, and Prukraine. Yeah, I like some weird pairings.**


	4. Fun And Games

**A/N: Sup, yo! Here's a new chapter! I still don't own Hetalia!**

**Love is all fun and games until someone loses an eye or gets pregnant. ~Jim Cole **

**THIS IS A LINE A Line a line**

The ringing of the phone startles France out of a half-sleep. She reluctantly digs herself out of England's couch and slides across the floor towards the ancient gray receiver.

"Bonjour?"

"Hallo, France." Germany's embarrassment seeps out of the phone.

France pushes down her surprise. "Allemagne, how are you?" Actually, France had noticed that the younger nation had seemed off at the last world meeting. Which, incidentally, had gone far better than she'd expected.

"France, are you there?"

"Excusѐ-moi, Allemagne. I was lost in thought."

"Look, I need to talk to you about something. In person."

"How soon?"

"Sometime this week?"

France quickly checks her calendar. "Is Thursday alright for you?"

THIS IS A LINE A Line a line

There is a small café on the outskirts of Paris, and this is where France and Germany arrange to meet. France orders tea, Germany orders coffee but doesn't drink it. They sit across from each other at a sidewalk table in metal chairs that press into their backs.

The flawless blue sky is broken only by the city and the trees that rise from the ground like a curtain. The only sounds are the Paris white noise and several prolific songbirds. France sips her tea.

"I'm pregnant."

France almost chokes on a mouthful of tea. "Allemagne, are you serious?"

Germany nods, not making eye contact. "I took a test and, well, I just know."

France is still reeling from the sudden announcement. "Have you told anyone else?"

"Nein. You're the first person. I can't – I can't tell Italy yet." Germany's eyes are watering againt her will. "He'll – be so excited and I'm – I don't know what I am."

France doesn't say anything, just reaches across and wraps her hand over Germany's. Germany squeezes it , using her free hand to wipe at her eyes. "I'm sorry, I've been crying over everything lately."

There is another period of silence before Germany tentatively says, "France, can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

Germany's voice is a whisper. "Are you scared?"

France smiles ruefully. "I am terrified, Allemagne."

They sit there for a while, the city flowing around them like a river, the only still things in a moving world.

**A/N: Okay, I didn't reach my review goal, but oh well. Everyone who reviews is amazing and gets a virtual hug. They keep me writing! In fact, reviews received on Saturday (the low point of my writing cycle) have been known to make me cry. So keep reviewing and we'll aim for 1% this week.**

**Random Question of the Day:**

**Q: When is this story updated?**

**A: Thursdays. **


	5. Heart Go Walking

**A/N: I'm really unsatisfied with this chapter, but oh well. If I owned Hetalia . . . Well, let's just say I don't own Hetalia.**

"_Making a decision to have a child-it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body" – Elizabeth Stone_

Germany's house is an old brick structure surrounded by large trees. As Hungary approaches, he takes note of which lights are framed against the darkening sky: the living room, Austria's room.

Austria has been living in Germany's house since the end of the war. Along with Prussia, she and Germany have formed the Germanic Union, a coalition of countries not unlike the United Kingdom.

Hungary attempts to lift the uncooperative door mat, under which Prussia has stashed his spare key. He mentally berates himself for not remembering to get his own key. He certainly comes here enough for it to be practical.

The solid door clicks open. Even though Hungary knows other people are there, the house seems deserted. There's something eerie about walking into someone else's house when no one is there to greet you.

The kitchen is as deserted as the entrance, but in the living room Hungary finds Prussia and Ukraine snuggling on the loveseat. Both of them look half asleep, but Prussia raises his head as Hungary enters. He grins at his old friend. "Specs is in her room."

Hungary shakes his head in amusement at his own predictability. He moves from the living room to the stairwell. The narrow stairs are dark and quiet. At the top, he can see light seeping out of Austria's door at the other end of the hall. As he gets closer, he can hear music from behind the closed door.

He turns the doorknob gingerly, trying to make as little noise as possible. Austria is curled in her bed, one arm wrapped under her pillow, drifting in the music. Hungary stands in the doorway for a moment, before sitting on the bed next to the still oblivious Austria. "Hey, you."

She blinks rapidly, surfacing. "Hello, Éliás." Her hair is slightly tousled and Hungary runs his fingers through it. She pushes herself upright, laying her head on his shoulder. He slips an arm around her.

They stay like that for a while before either of them speaks again. Austria is the one who breaks the silence. "Éliás?"

"Mmm?" Hungary's head is resting against hers. "I've been thinking about France's, ah, announcement last meeting."

"What about it?"

Austria's reply is barely audible. "I want a family."

**A/N: Please don't leave reviews about how much this chapter sucks. I already know. I'm going to go work on the next chapter, which should be much better.**


	6. New Life

**A/N: Sorry about the lateness of this! It's extra long, so I hope that makes up for it.**

A mother's joy begins when new life is stirring inside... when a tiny heartbeat is heard for the very first time, and a playful kick reminds her that she is never alone. ~Author Unknown

In the deserted parking lot in front of the small clinic, England and France sit in England's small car, gathering themselves.

The day is just below boiling, and even though the windows are rolled down, the car is scorching. The hot fabric of the seat melts into France's skin. Despite the heat, she makes no move to leave the car. She simply looks out at the clinic.

The building is brick, with light blue doors and windows. There is a garden pressed against it. The most striking feature of this is a trellis, being climbed by a kind of vine with flowers the same color as the trim. Two young trees shoot out of the recently mowed lawn.

France's door is opened. She looks up at England in surprise: she hadn't even seen him get out of the car. He smiles at her. "Ready, Rachel?" She nods, moving to unbuckle her seatbelt. "Oui. Let's go."

The air inside of the waiting room is frigid. The walls are painted a cold white. The metal chairs with poorly padded seats are bolted together.

France signs in at the office, then takes a seat next to England. As she has neglected to bring a book, she is reduced to looking around the room.

She notices an informational poster depicting fetal growth throughout the forty weeks of pregnancy. She stands up to get a closer look, paying particular attention to the eight week old fetus. If her calculations are correct, that's how far along she is. The little creature in the drawing is about an inch long. It already has tiny fingers and toes, and the beginnings of ears. In contrast to the previous drawing, it looks surprisingly human.

"Rachel Bonnefoy?" France turns around at the hesitant voice. A young nurse is standing in the doorway, clutching her clipboard tightly. "Ah, you can come back now." The girl's dark blond hair is pulled back into a short ponytail. Her nails have been painstakingly painted white. The nametag clipped to her uniform says 'Lucy'.

Lucy leads them down a short hallway to a room only slightly smaller than the waiting room. She tells them the doctor will be in in a few seconds, then slips out.

England sits in one of the random chairs in the room. France perches on the examining table. After five or so minutes, the door opens and a middle aged woman with iron hair enters. "I'm Dr. Lavigne. You two must be France and England." They nod.

Most of the examination goes quickly. The medical history does end up turning into a history of France, but other than that everything goes smoothly.

Then comes the part France is most looking forward to and most nervous about: the sonogram.

Dr. Lavigne turns on the moniter, then spreads the cold blue gel on France's. Using an instrument that looks oddly similar to a bar code scanner, she begins.

The image is grainy and unfocused, but it slowly comes to life. Bit by bit, the tiny person reveals itself to them.

It seems as if it is only real behind the glass. This little human can't actually be in France. It is far too disconnected from them for it to be here. It is just carrying on in its' own little universe.

France reaches out to touch the screen.

**A/N: Random question of the day: **

**Q: Why was this so late?**

**A: I'm lazy, and it's long. **

**Go forth and review!**


	7. Twist To A Knot

**A/N: Well, here it is. I still don't own Hetalia.**

I begin to love this creature, and to anticipate her birth as a fresh twist to a knot, which I do not wish to untie.~ Mary Wollstonecraft

Germany had known what Italy's reaction would be, but she's still almost knocked over by his hug.

"Ve, Germany, that's magnifico!" They are sitting on the steps of a townhouse in Venice, watching the gray streets go by. The sun presses against their skin.

Germany is already starting to love this baby. She hadn't been prepared to, but it's grown on her, this tiny person who is half Italy and half her.

But she's still worried about raising the child. She isn't exactly a maternal person. Will she be able to show the child how much loves it?

She's scared. It comes down to that. She's scared of being a parent and of having a child and of everything that comes with it. She's more scared than she's been in a long time, and in a way, more than she's ever been.

Italy isn't scared yet, or if he is, he's hiding it.

Italy has now put a hand over her stomach and is talking to the baby. "And when you get here, I'll teach you to cook, and your mama can teach you to march. And Romano and Prussia can teach you to grow tomatoes and to be awesome."

Germany almost tells Italy that the baby can't hear him, but there's something soothing about listening to him, so she doesn't. She leans back and lets the warm afternoon sun lull her to sleep as she listens to Italy's voice rising and falling.

THIS IS A LINE A Line a line

Denmark leans against the wall and wonders why a supposedly instant pregnancy test is taking so long.

He really wants to be in there with Norway, but she wouldn't even let him in, telling him he would be annoying enough in the hallway.

The door opens, and Denmark whirls around. Almost smiling, Norway holds out the positive test.

**A/N:** Random Question: When will Um get her act together and post at a reasonable hour?

Answer: Next week. I hope.


	8. Blessing

A/N: Okay, this is short. If I owned Hetalia, there would be a Broadway musical based on it by now.

Having a place to go - is a home. Having someone to love - is a family. Having both - is a blessing. ~Donna Hedges

"This place looks totally great!". Poland announces, looking around the newly furnished room.

The old house does look great. After two days of hard work by four people, it should. Along with Estonia and Latvia, Poland and Lithuania are moving into the three-story townhouse near the Polish-Lithuanian border. It really is lovely, all high ceilingsand whitewashed walls and blue trimmed doorways. The windows are so old that the glass has become warped. It is a lived in house in the best kind of way, the kind that seems to have been waiting for a new family.

Now, with every last thing in it's new place, every final box unpacked, Lithuania put as an arm around Poland's shoulders. "It does look great." She agrees. He grins at her. "Told you it would."

"I still want to know what that extra room is for." Estonia muses, looking up at where the empty room is. Latvia nods. Most of the rooms are stuffed with the accumulated possessions of four people from four different cultures, but a small bedroom on the second floor is still empty. Poland and Lithuania, the ones who had insisted on the bare room, have refused to tell Estonia and Latvia what it's for.

The small group disperses, Estonia and Latvia to their respective bedrooms, Poland and Lithuania to the empty room. The room is well lit despite its size, thanks to a skylightand large window. The two smile at each other, thinking of the room's future purpose.

Someday, hopefully someday soon, it's going to be their nursery.

The two of them stand in front of the window. The warm afternoon sunlight spills into the room. Hands intertwined, they lean against each other. Waiting.

A/N: No question because I am TIRED!


	9. Kind Of Miracle

**A/N: This can be blamed on my friends, who distracted me with guitar lessons, painting, moving a picnic bench, and a paint fight. This was slightly rushed, so not very good.**

_Pregnancy is a kind of miracle. Especially so in that it proves that a man and woman can conspire to force God to create a new soul. -Robert Anton Wilson_

"Sassa, could you pass the peas?" Norway asks, shifting in the soft wooden chair. Next to her, Denmark shoots her an offended look. "You could have asked me. I'm right here." Norway takes the dish Sweden is holding out to her. "You shortstop." She justifies. Denmark gives her his best sad face.

Finland laughs. "Don't look like such a kicked puppy, Den. It's true." Denmark sticks his tongue out, which only makes Finland laugh harder.

The Nordics are attempting to have a 'family night', despite a long history of such attempts failing spetacularly. After setting two kitchens and a shed on fire, killing a family of squirrels, and breaking enough heirlooms to fill an antique shop, most people would have given up. Obviously, the Nordics are not most people.

This particular gathering is at Sweden and Finland's house, which Finland still claims is just Sweden's house. Sweden and Finland have stratigically arranged their family around the circular oak table. So far, nothing catastrophic has happened.

The whole thing had been prompted by Norway telling her family about her pregnancy which has apparently reawakened their family spirit.

Sweden, sitting next to Norway, turns to her. "How're ya?"

Norway shrugs. "Alright. I'm throwing up a couple of times a day, and I'm tired, but other than that."

There is a moment of silence before Sweden asks, "What's 't like?" Norway gives her a sideways glance. "Being pregnant? Honestly, it just seems like I've got some kind of stomach virus. It doesn't seem real."

"'Ve been thinkin' 'f 't m'self. A baby, I mean." Sweden is mumbling even worse than usual. "Hav'n't told an'one. Not 'ven Fin."

Norway remains as impassive as ever. "Well, think about it. I can see you with a kid, you know."

Sweden just smiles her imperceptible smile.

**A/N: Again, no question.**


	10. 90

**A/N: From now on this will be updated every Friday.**

**This is shitty, and I apologize. I do not, however, apologize for the awful Orwell joke.**

_Life is 10% what happens to you, and 90% how you react to it. ~Anonymous_

THIS IS A LINE A Line a line

Russia doesn't like The Great Gatsby. There isn't a particular reason for it, she just doesn't.

So why has she agreed to see the movie?

Going to the movies has always been Russia and America's way of celebrating. On this occasion, they are celebrating Russia's pregnancy. They're in good company; at the most recent world meeting Belgium, Norway, and Germany had announced their own pregnancies.

And so Russia is sitting in the passenger seat of America's Ford Explorer, listening to some American band on the radio and sulking.

"I still say you only want to see this movie because Leonardo diCaprio is in it," she accuses America.

America laughs. "Annie, it's based on a great American novel. I kind of have to go see it. I didn't complain when you wanted to see Anna Karenina."

"You did!" Russia exclaims. "You whined the whole way to the theater!" after a moment, she adds, "And I've told you not to call me Annie."

America fiddles with the radio before breaking the somewhat sullen silence. "Hey Anya." He places extra emphasis on the name.

"Chto?"*

"It could be worse."

Russia raises an eyebrow.

"We could be going to see something based on Orwell."

She shakes her head fondly. "Capitalist pig."

"More like communist pig."

"That was a terrible joke."

He turns to grin at her, earning himself a whack on the shoulder.

"Hey, don't hit the driver!"

"Keep your eyes on the road!"

America returns his attention to driving, but after a few minutes he reaches over and puts a hand on Russia's leg.

"Thanks for coming to see this with me."

*Apparently 'what' in Russian.


	11. Two Things

__**A/N: Broken computers + visiting family + last week of school = late update.**

* * *

_There are two things in life for which we are never truly prepared: twins. ~Josh Billings_

* * *

The inside of the car is hot from being parked in the boiling sun for over an hour. Germany leans back in the uncomfortably warm seat, still stunned. She is gripping her scan picture in one hand, occasionally glancing down at the image of the fetuses.

Fetuses, plural.

Germany had just gotten used to the idea of one baby, and now she has to completely reset her mindset to two. It seems unfair.

In the passenger seat, Italy is being himself, not shutting up and not reading the atmosphere. He obviously thinks the whole situation is wonderful, which makes Germany feel guilty that she isn't as excited.

"Isn't it great, Vreni?" He's grinning at her, but his smile fades when he sees how distant Germany seems.

"Ve, what's wrong?" He asks. She doesn't respond. "You're not upset, are you? You do want these _bambinos,_ right?"

She nods, looking as if she's about to cry. "_Ja._ I'm - I'm just - so . . . " Her voice trails off.

"What? Italy asks, concerned, awkwardly wrapping an arm around her.

"I'm scared." Her voice cracks on the last word. "I'm not going to be a good mother." She wipes furiously at her eyes.

These feelings aren't new; they've been pooling in the back of Germany's mind since she found out she was pregnant. Finding out it's twins has spent them spilling over the edge.

Italy wraps his arms around her as best he can, given that they're in different seats.

"Ve, that's not true!" He exclaims.

"It is," Germany insists, really crying now. "I'm good at being strict and ordering people around, not at being caring or nurturing or anything."

"You take care of me," Italy points out. "You protect me and you get me out of trouble when I do stupid stuff. And you took care of your brother when he wasn't a nation."

He pauses and looks at her. Her crying has quieted somewhat.

"You just love differently. And that's good. When the _bambinos _get here, you can love them and protect them and keep them out of trouble and I can give them pasta, si?"

Germany nods shakily. Looking down, she realizes that she's crumpled the scan picture in her hand. She smoothes it carefully.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Random Question:**

**Q: What the heck is up with the random names?**

**A: They're my names for the genderbent characters.**

**Rachel - France**

**Verena/Vreni - Germany**

**Roswitha/Rosi - Austria**

**Kjell - Norway**

**Astrid/Sassa - Sweden**


	12. Ultimately

**A/N: I'm really really sorry!**

_"Anything I've ever done that ultimately was worthwhile…initially scared me to death." - Betty Bender _

The cold concrete and warmth-stealing white tiles of the Naples train station are a welcome relief after the scorched day outside. Romano stands on the edge of the platform, arms crossed.

His day has been - annoying so far. Most of this annoyance can be traced back tohis younger brother. Veneziano spent the day floating around the government office in Rome, carrying on about himself and Germany and their babies and just generally being more useless than usual.

And getting even less work done than normal. Work that their boss made Romano do instead.

He is glad to be on his way home. Being a nation, he doesn't really need to take the time consuming train. They all have the ability to just be in any location that is within their borders. But Romano loves riding the train, especially the line that circles the Base of Mt. Vesuvius (called, appropriately, the Circumvesuvianus.). He rides it so often that he can actually recognize the trains by the graffiti on them.

Spain has named them, and makes Romano point them out whenever they go some. The green and pink graffitied train that pulls into the station is, if he remembers correctly, named Francisco. The bright colors stand out brilliantly against the dull gray metal.

The trip from Naples to Castellammare di Stabia, the small town where Romano and Spain are staying, takes about half an hour. It takes another fifteen minutes to walk from the train station to their rowhouse.

The town is old. It was partially buried by the eruption in 79 A.D. There is an archaeology institute in the town, but it hasn't attracted tourists like Pompeii or Herculaneum.

The house Romano and Spain are staying in is a sun-red brick row house in the middle of town. Romano unlocks the red door and enters the main passage, which runs along the left side of the house, stopping at the open kitchen door.

Spain is sitting at the table, hands wrapped around a sea blue mug. She looks up at Romano, her face shining.

"Romano!" The table is left behind as she leaps up and wraps her arms around him. "I'm pregnant."

Romano lets out a startled half laugh. "P-pregnant?" He's not sure where the stutter came from.

Spain nods, lifting an arm to gesture at the table, where Romano notices the half dozen pregnancy tests that he had somehow overlooked. Then she hugs him again, giddy.

Romano is unsure what he should be thinking, but all he can focus on is Spain's smile. She is smiling like she used to smile before the war. The smile that makes Romano aware that his greatest weakness isn't tomatoes or his occasional feeling of inferiority.

It's that smile.

**A/N: How would you guys feel about this story having more of a plot?**


	13. Understand

_Life was hard on mothers; but then, they just didn't understand."_

_― James T. Farrell, Studs Lonigan: A Trilogy_

Sitting in the crowded meeting room, Austria is bored.

This is because the meeting hasn't started yet, so there's no general chaos for her to observe. The meeting should have started by now, but no one else seems to have noticed.

Sitting next to Austria, Germany, who normally starts things when they're slow like this, is asleep, her head on the table. Austria prods her awake.

Someone (probably America) has scribbled the agenda on the whiteboard at the front of the room*. It's relatively short; recovery reports, global warming, and reproduction.

It's obvious why the last one is necessary from the number of pregnant nations. France and Germany are already starting to show.

The reports go well, but global warming quickly degenerates into arguing, as usual. America is fighting with England, England is fighting with France (although not about the issues at hand), and everyone else is losing focus so that the whole room goes blurry.

Germany has fallen asleep again, this time with her head on Italy's shoulder. Austria reaches over once more and pokes her. She flinches awake, causing Italy to glance I over with a confused expression.

Germany's eyes flicker over the blurry room before she stands up. Austria can't help but notice that she seem less forceful than before the war.

"Alright, everyone shut up. Anyone who wants to speak will raise their hand after the person ahead of them is done speaking. That person will throw the speaking pillow to the next person. Keep your remarks under five minutes."

The speaking pillow is a small embroidered cushion that England had been working on at a particularly dysfunction meeting.

America's hand shoots up like a lightning rod. Germany tosses him the pillow.

"Okay, so my boss wants us to talk about the pregnancy thing. Cause there are like-" he pauses to count "-five pregnant people. So she wants is to talk about why."

He looks around the room for raised hands, then throws it to England.

"It makes sense that it's happening now." England says. "We've just come out of a war. Everyone feels like there's not going to be another one soon. Also, everyone's feeling closer together. It feels safe."

A/N: The ending sucks.


	14. NOT A CHAPTER

_The baby bounced gently off the wall of her uterus. She opened her dressing gown and put her hands back on her belly. It moved again, like a dolphin going through the water; that was the way she imagined it. ~Roddy Doyle_

France hasn't been in the dusty old storeroom since World War II. She casts her eyes over the valley of yellow cardboard boxes.

England shakes his head. "When was the last time any one was in here?"

"Decades," France sighs.

The only reason they're in here now that the two of them, along with America and Canada, are going to try to clean this place out. After they've removed all the accumulated files, they'll refurbish the small room as a nursery.

The door ends and America and Canada return. America plunks a McDonald's bag on one of the boxes. "The hero is here!" He announces. Canada just smiles softly and gives France a hug.

"What's in these things?" America asks, making his question pointless by opening one of the boxes. He pulls out one of the files. "Papers?" He sounds slightly disappointed.

"Put that back where you put it." England says, making it clear that he doesn't think America will obey. "What did you expect, stuffed ducks?"

"What are we supposed to be doing again?" America is still pawing through the box. While England and America have been bickering, France and Canada have settled themselves on the floor and are beginning to investigate boxes.

France answers America. "I want to get this cleaned out before I get any bigger."

"Yeah, but _what_ are we doing? Like with the stuff."

"Inventorying." England tells him. He shakes his head at America's blank look. "Looking through the boxes and seeing what's inside."

"I can totally do that!" America exclaims, returning to his box.

They work in dusty silence until America can no longer keep his mouth shut. Searching for a topic, he lands on France's round stomach.

"Hey France."

She looks up from her box.

"You felt any kicking yet?"

"Oui, a little."

America hesitates for a moment before asking, "What does it feel like?"

France cocks her head, thinking the question over. "I can't really describe it. Bubbles, maybe."

America's forehead wrinkles in confusion. "Bubbles?"

"Oui. Like - little bubbles, popping." Guessing at what America wants to ask, she smiles and offers, "Would you like to feel?"

She guesses correctly. America's eyes grow wide. "Can I?"

France gestures him over. "She's kicking right now."

"It's a girl?" America asks, carefully placing a hand over her stomach.

"I think so, but Angleterre is convinced it's a boy."

"Well, if you'd let the doctor tell us, then we'd know for sure." England butts in.

"Non, I want it to be a surprise." She turns her attention back to America, who is grinning so broadly that his face seems about to split in half.

"It actually kicked me! That's so cool!"

England mutters, "What were you expecting," but America doesn't seem to notice.

"That's amazing! I can't wait for my kid to do that."

"By the way, how is Russia?" Canada asks, joining the conversation for the first time. America smiles. "She's good. A little sick, but other than that, great. She's at Ukraine's right now."

"Are you two excited?" England asks.

"Do you even need to ask?" America laughs. "Of course we are!" Growing slightly more serious, he adds, "It's weird. The kid's only about an inch long, but I'd already do anything for them.

England pats him on the shoulder. "That's what being a parent is, lad."


	15. Beautifully Irrational

**A/N: Bleh. I'm a horrible updater. And this is ridiculously short.**

_Yes, having a child is surely the most beautifully irrational act that two people in love can commit. ~Bill Cosby, Fatherhood_

The boxes are stacked so high that it's difficult to see out the rear windshield of the car. Sighing at the ridiculous number of them, Canada lifts one and carries it to her kitchen. Stuffed with papers, it's far heavier than she'd expected.

Inside the fawn-colored kitchen, Canada sets the box down on the island. The Netherlands leans against doorway, watching her struggle.

"Are you going to to help, eh?" Canada asks, placing a second box next to the first. The Netherlands looks at the stack on the fake marble-top. "What's in them?"

"Oh, just old papers. Drawings, mostly, and some letters. It was ridiculous in there."

She goes back into the garage and reemerges with another box. This time, the Netherlands takes it from her and sets it on the edge of the island. "Where are we going to keep all this?"

"In my office closet."

"Not the spare bedroom?"

Canada doesn't say anything. The Netherlands has his suspicions about why she wants to leave the the bedroom open, but he also keeps quiet.

Canada wants children. She hasn't actually said anything about it, but it's not all that hard to figure out. There's a slight envy in her voice when she talks about any of the nations already expecting And a certain fondness in her eyes when they see families that lets the Netherlands know what she's daydreaming about.

He wouldn't mind a couple of kids himself. That probably isn't a great mindset for a prospective parent, but he'd rather spend brain energy on real people. He isn't sure if Canada is planning to tell him.

He hopes so.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Okay, this sucks. But I'm so sick of it and it's been so long since I posted that I'm just going to put it up. The chapter I'm working on now is much better.**

In one corner of the living room, the air conditioner grumbles discontentedly, producing a stream of cold air directly in front of it and nowhere else. The sun sneaks through the blinds and lands on the carpet.

Russia is lying on the couch on her side, legs folded together and one hand behind her head, paging through a book of baby names, occasionally writing one down in her spiral bound notebook. Squeezed between the couch and the coffee table, America is performing a more animated version of the same routine. He taps the pen against the page, exclaims loudly when he finds a name he likes, and attempts to shift position in the tight space.

America already has several names written down in an unorganized scrawl on the pages of his battered composition book. Russia looks up from her Cyrillic list and glances at it.

"Kennedy?" She inquires, pointing to one name. "Like your president?"

"I was thinking more of the family," America admits. "But yeah, kinda."

Russia shakes her head. "And what makes you think that I would agree to name our child after one of your presidents?"

"Why not? What's on your list?" He grabs for her notebook. "Aw, come on , it's in Cyrillic."

"So you can't read it," Russia tells him, grabbing it back. Taking pity on him, she points to the names. "Nadezhda, Fyodor, and Fedora."

"Fedora? Like the hat?"

"It's a name as well."

America looks surprised. "I didn't know that. What about the others?"

"What about them?"

"Do they mean anything?"

"Nadezhda Mandelbaum is one of my favorite poets. And Fyodor was Dostoyevski's first name."


End file.
